1001 Cybertronian Nights
by Northwest Sage
Summary: A Collection of Random Shorts on Various Subjects.
1. Rewind: His Final Days

**1001 Cybertronian Nights**

**Rewind: His Final Days**

One hundred thousand years from now, the war between Autobots and Decepticons will be over. Indeed, the very distinctions of Autobot and Decepticon have no place in the future, for they are words without meaning. Two factions of a race all but forgotten and lost to the sands of time. However, as with most other rules, there are a select few exceptions. Pockets of both clans slipped through the jaws of oblivion and survived. A random member of the former warring dynasties would turn up from time to time, often broken and forever out of place. One such enigma happened to be former Autobot, Rewind.

Rewind had settled peacefully in a small asteroid-belt colony on the outskirts of the solar system that included New Cybertron as one of its celestial treasures. His existence was one of learning, in silence and solitude. Truth be told, the ancient archivist wouldn't have had it any other way. With the war of the Transformers now confined to a handful of respectful history books, and more-so a colorful embellishment for drunkards and dying veterans, Rewind had more than enough time to study whatever he wished. Every moment of every day he continued to function was spent absorbing knowledge from a wide array of topics. He had lost many, if not all, of his former friends, but his records and historical documents still comforted him. They wouldn't leave him, nor could they die and add another layer of depression upon his being.

Rewind, for a short time, had called New Cybertron home. But he was unhappy there and unable to shake his somberness. It was a constant reminder of what once was. A place that at every corner, down every street, did nothing but remind him of all that was lost. The name may have been similar, but it was a pale imitation of what he knew and remembered. With a painful acceptance of the truth, he chose to leave New Cybertron and settled on the nearby asteroid-belt colony that some had nicknamed 'The Crystal Desert'. It was, admittedly, a strange and odd name, but there were far more important debates to be contested. It was somewhat more endearing than another nickname, calling the colony 'The Asteroid of Misfit Autobots'. The name stayed, and so did Rewind.

Then, in an instant, everything changed.  
**They** arrived.

The ruler of the invaders was known as Bak-Tonn, leader of the Morns. The Morns were a powerful and massive race of beings, ruling countless planets with an iron grip. Their home planet, Vabel, was more savage than the planet Beest and six times larger than Saturn. Twenty-seven moons circled Vabel, which made for quite the nighttime scenery. Two suns burned into Vabel's soil, removing virtually all traces of vegetation.

There was no rhyme or reason why they did what they did. It was the only way of life they had known; conquer all others. The siege on The Crystal Desert lasted less than a week. Politicians on New Cybertron and other neighboring planets refused to interfere. Cowardice or prejudice, call it what you will, it wasn't their role to police the galaxy. Rewind was one of only two thousand who lived long enough to be taken prisoner.

Bak-Tonn was known through out the galaxy for his determination and intellect in battle, and also for one of his crueler traditions. At the end of a Vabel day, many times longer than one day on Earth, the ruler would send an officer into the prison camps to fetch a random target. The selected victim would then be brought before the horrific looking Bak-Tonn and be forced to tell a story. After the story was competed, the storyteller would be dropped into a pit of liquid fire and destroyed. The entire ordeal would start anew the next day, with an equally doomed participant forced to take the role of speaker.

Rewind had long prepared for his day to be chosen, and he was not afraid when that day arrived. Standing before the ruthless conqueror, he could feel the heat coming from the hellish pit a few meters away. But the once proud Autobot was ready for his task, as he would draw upon all the knowledge and data he had accumulated to craft a wondrous and never-ending tale.

Rewind was careful in his selections and cautious in his delivery. Each word used expertly to craft an enthralling epic, certain to please the attentive ruler. Soon, the usual time allotted for the story had come to an end, yet the story itself had not been concluded. As he had reasoned, Bak-Tonn was so entertained by the tale, he waived the scheduled termination and allowed Rewind to live another day. This was the first time that had ever happened, but Rewind swore to himself that it would not be the last.

The next day, Rewind continued his story, and again talked his way through the usual time allowed without ending the story. With the story stopping at such a pivotal place, Bak-Tonn again extended Rewinds life another day. This continued again and again, for a thousand and one days.

For reasons never fully understood, Bak-Tonn lifted Rewind from his imprisonment and welcomed him into his inner circle. Perhaps it had something to do with a rare showing of mercy. Maybe he was spared as a means to quiet a possible prisoner uprising. Or, maybe it was as simple as Bak-Tonn's words made it out to be. "Any being that can tell stories as great as those, deserves better than a flaming death."

Of course, it mattered little seven days later, as one of Vabel's suns went supernova and all life in that sector of space ceased to be. But the stories live on, here and now, before your very eyes. Records of lost words and collections of knowledge for all to enjoy. Just as Rewind would've wanted it.

And who am I? Who is this being that now brings these tales to you? My name is not important, only know that I am like you. Always watching, always listening. Forever catching glimpses of all things unseen.

The storyteller is dead.  
Long live the storyteller!

* * *

**A/N: I'm going back and editing some of my older stuff. I'm also trying to clean up my List of Stories, so this will be a sort of Catch-All for my random fics of past and future. The first few "chapters" will be some of my older fics from here with a clean-up job; but I plan on adding new stuff down the road. Thanks for reading!**


	2. The Sad, Strange Death of The Mechanic

**1001 Cybertronian Nights**

**The Sad, Strange Death of the Mechanic**

_(Formerly Known As: A Lesser Origin of Species)_

Imagine virtually every freedom a man has, taken away from him. To eat what he wants, sleep when he chooses, and walk wherever he decides. Now surround that same man with iron bars and throw him into a mix of rapists and murderers. Every day, his sanity suffers another crack, and his individuality collides and is absorbed by conformity. This is not a pleasant scene to imagine, yet this is exactly how a man known as The Mechanic lived. Each and every day for eight long, maddening years.

It wasn't his fault he was in prison. That blame fell upon a group of Autobots known as the Protectobots, for it was they that foiled his last car robbery and sent him to his current residence. He also placed some of the blame on his former sidekick, Roger. He believed him to have tipped the authorities, which in turn sought out assistance from the Protectobots, which ultimately led to his arrest. But he had already gotten revenge on Roger. Despite being in confinement, the Mechanic remained a very powerful man and made sure Roger suffered an unfortunate accident for his presumed act of betrayal.

Tomorrow was the day the Mechanic never thought would arrive. His sentence was up, his prison days over and done with. He would soon be able to eat what he wanted, sleep when he wanted, and walk down any street in America as a free man. He would also be able to extract revenge upon those mechanical menaces that cost him eight years of his life. In twenty-four hours, he could finally make the Autobots pay for what they had done.

Over the course of the previous four days, a strange blue orb had been spotted near the Ark, primary base for the Earth-bound Autobots. Each day, at the exact same time and location, the object appeared to monitor all activity located in the area. The Autobot's human friend, Spike Witwicky, marveled at the UFO for its brilliant color and dependability. Others within the Autobot ranks took a give-or-take approach to their curious observer. Wheeljack, primary engineer, saw the device as a distraction, or worse, a new type of Decepticon probe. The majority of the Autobots concluded the object posed no true threat and simply ignored Wheeljack's repeated statements to the contrary. During a subsequent visit, an interceptor was launched to try and contain the orb. Its outcome was disappointing, as the orb effortlessly avoided capture and easily escaped, only to return the following day.

"I wonder what it's looking for?" Spike asked, casting an inquisitive glance towards Perceptor.

The Autobot scientist heard Wheeljack mumble some derogatory remarks as he headed back inside the Ark. Pausing for a moment of thought, Perceptor offered up a bothersome reply to Spike's earlier question. "Maybe it isn't _looking_," he answered. "Maybe it's _waiting_."

The Mechanic wasted little time in returning to his thankfully undiscovered base of operations. Secrecy was of the utmost importance to the criminal, as only he and his deceased former lackey, Roger, knew of its location. Aside from a hundred or so spider webs and a handful of dead rats that greeted him upon his entrance, it had remained just as he had left it. Six man-made killing machines, looking like low-rent Transformers, stood along the far northern wall. They stood lifeless, awaiting final adjustments that had been halted eight years ago due to his unfortunate run-in with the law of the land. Appearing small compared to the majority of Autobots, these six "Redeemers" stood nearly 15 feet high and were covered with a fire retardant applicant. Each brandished a powerful laser cannon mounted atop their left shoulders. A smile fell across the Mechanic's face, and his eyes grew bright with anticipation.

**_Later..._**

Security measures at the Ark would make any government building envious, so it came as no surprise when the early warning systems were activated. Tele-tran 1 announced nine intruders on the premise, one human and eight mechanical beings, origins unknown. Optimus Prime, legendary Autobot commander, stood before Tele-tran's massive screen and read the information being displayed. "Interesting," he stated, simultaneously realizing the threat was minimal and finding it somewhat perplexing. "You don't see that every day."

Chief medical officer Ratchet, one of Prime's most trusted advisors, stood next to his towering leader and was curious to find out what all the commotion was about. "Will somebody please turn that annoying siren off?" the often cranky and constantly determined Autobot barked. Seconds later, Optimus ordered the alarm to be silenced and officially downgraded the threat level to its lowest classification. "That human looks familiar," Ratchet announced, then quickly confirmed his silent identification. "The Mechanic?" he asked in a tone full of disbelief. Ratchet held the distinct pleasure of being the first Transformer to interact with the thief. "I thought he was behind bars."

"That would seem to no longer be the case," Prime stated. He flipped a switch located on a control panel near his left hand, and activated a communications channel. "Hot Spot," he began, addressing the leader of the Autobot sub-group, the Protectobots. "We have a level one security situation. Please respond and intervene."

Outside the Ark, with eight remote-controlled killers standing behind him, the Mechanic shouted out his intentions for the entire world to hear. "I will now have my revenge," he screamed, visibly trembling from the adrenaline flooding his body. Hot Spot had emerged from the Ark and behind him the other four members of his squad stood at attention. The Mechanic's eyes widened as he realized these were the same robots that had led to his prior arrest. "You!" he roared. "You will be the first to die!"

"He's certainly got a gift for being dramatic," Blades observed. First Aid shot a disappointing stare at his combat-loving teammate. The Protectobot doctor had a soft spot for their intruder, understanding the human had intense mental issues and longed to help him. Hot Spot ordered the group's interceptor, Streetwise, to approach the Mechanic and seek a peaceful resolution.

As soon as Streetwise transformed into his police car alt-mode, the Mechanic's heart beat increased tenfold. Memories of being arrested... interrogated... imprisoned... washed over him with a force as violent as a volcanic eruption. "No," he muttered, his face turning white from fear as his paranoia about to returning to prison choked his spirit. "No! Not again, not before I have my revenge! I'm not going back!" He initiated the attack program on his eight self-built warriors and watched with excitement as Streetwise's approach was halted by a massive laser strike.

More annoyed than concerned, Hot Spot took action, bringing a complete and total end to the showdown. Calmly, he aimed his primary weapon at each of the robots and fired. Eight precise blasts rendered the Mechanic's squad of "Redeemers" to broken pieces. The Mechanic stood in shock, his mouth open but void of a single word. Eight years of planning... eight years of thinking of nothing but revenge... erased and eradicated in eight seconds. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as though it was made of steel and became light headed. His legs grew weak and could no longer support his weight, sending him crashing to the ground. "He's gone into shock," First Aid shouted. Before he could reach him and perform the necessary procedures, the mysterious orb returned. It was right on time, just like clockwork. It shot a beam of light down to the Mechanic's body, engulfing it completely. Then, in the blink of an eye, both the orb and his body were gone. The Protectobots stood in wonderment, as did those who had been watching the entire ordeal on Tele-tran 1's monitor.

"Apparently, the _waiting _is over," Perceptor stated.

_**Elsewhere...**_

In another reality, in another universe, the Mechanic found himself alone on a great, barren planet. Alone and quite insane, he began to construct robots similar to those he knew in a different time. He allowed his obsession to take physical form, perhaps as a way to deal with being so alone, or perhaps as a self-torturing redemption. He didn't dwell on the particulars, and instead gave in to the unexplainable and unshakable urge to do what he was doing. It was as if it was meant to be, that he was now fulfilling some ancient pre-destined task. How else could he rationalize the fact that all the parts and equipment he needed were so easily acquired? Almost as though they were placed in the shadows deliberately, for him and him alone to find and use.

In time, his physical and mental health collapsed and he died. The robots prospered, as they became self-sufficient. Over time, the Mechanic's, or as his creations referred to him-_**The Last Engineer**_, began to outgrow their initial programming. As do all things intelligent, they formed their own society, along with rules and aspirations to prosper. Sadly, after an initial period of peaceful existence, ripples began to disturb the majestic ways of life. A definite split among the Engineer's creations took place, a direct result of different ways of thinking and a clash of ideals. The more passive of the two groups adopted the name of _**Guardians**_. Their opposition, accordingly, made a name for themselves as the _**Renegades**_ . The only thing the two sides agreed upon was the name of the planet they shared. A planet that had been theirs since their dawning, and the planet they now waged war on. The planet _**Gobotron**_.

Created by the Last Engineer, from the broken mind of the Mechanic. What a marvelous creature, this entity known as Man.

**The End.**


	3. Unicron: An Angry Sky

**1,001 Cybertronian Nights**

**An Angry Sky**

"There is great anger in the sky." The elder stood atop a majestic mountain ledge, and looked out toward his village below. Night had fallen and the stars were shining brightly. By his side was a student, one of his brightest and most eager. Her eyes had never seen the evils of the world. But, feared the elder, that was all about to change.

"The wind blows colder than usual," the elder continued. "Look, down into the village," he said, pointing his left hand in its direction. "See how the fires burn more slowly, the flames no longer dancing." His student gazed down at the village, noticed the fires, but seemed unconcerned. "Listen to the land," he added. "Where are the cries of the animals? The songs of the midnight Torpacs?"

The elder cast his eyes upward, marveling at the beauty that wrapped around them. He had traveled to many distant places and encountered interesting beings of all walks of life. Still, no other place in the universe felt as welcome as where he stood. "There are some things in life that cannot be changed. Certain events set in motion, far beyond our control, that unleash an unbiased wave of terror. I fear that your future will be unreached." He lowered his head and turned to look at his young apprentice. "I fear, my student, that soon the nights will fade away."

The student tried hard to understand what the elder was saying. The elder often talked in ways that were difficult to decipher. But it wasn't so much the words he was saying that bothered the student, rather it was the tone of voice being used. There was a sadness in the air, a reluctant acceptance of a defeat yet to be endured. "What has you so unhappy, elder? Why do you sound so afraid?"

"My young, innocent pupil," the elder sighed. How could she fathom the horror he knew was on its way? What could he possibly say to fully explain the total and absolute carnage that loomed behind the growing shadows? "There is great anger in the sky," he repeated. "And anger leads to Chaos." The elder took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying hard not to frighten the young one. He placed his arm around the student and together they both looked up to the stars and searched. "And Chaos brings Destruction."

And they continued searching, for many more days and nights, until what they were looking for finally found them instead. And behold, there was great anger in the sky.

Chaos had finally arrived.

**THE END.**

* * *

**A/N: After watching the original TF:TM about a hundred times, I got to wondering about the other planets Unicron may have destroyed on his way towards Cybertron. This was what I came up with...**


	4. Ultra Magnus: The Order

**1,001 Cybertronian Nights**

**THE ORDER**

Ultra Magnus, one of the greatest military minds to occupy a slot in the Autobot ranks, stormed out of the central meeting chamber in a fit of rage. He could be heard grumbling throughout the corridor, visibly upset that his recommendation for a preemptive strike was vetoed. He walked straight and proud, but the force with which he stomped down the passageway revealed his feelings of betrayal. His massive frame raced past a recreational sector, catching a quick glimpse from Autobots Groove and Kup.

"Seems he's in one of his moods again," the motorcycle alt-mode Protectobot stated.

"After all he's been through, Groove, he deserves to be grumpy every now and then."

"He's a city commander. Forgive me if I don't feel for him," Groove cracked.

"You know," Kup began, "He used to be a Planetary Commander, back before your time."

Groove leaned in across the table in an inquisitive gesture. "I didn't know that. How did you..."

"Know? I just do," Kup informed him. "A court martial knocked him down in rank, and ever since then he's been haunted by the events that sparked his demotion."

"Is that why he's seemingly constantly in a foul mood? Always so, how do the humans say it, gung-ho?"

Kup smiled at the choice of words. "He didn't use to be. He used to be more cautious, prone to over-evaluation rather than over-reacting. You could say he was just like Optimus Prime, only differences being physical." Kup's optics appeared to dim slightly. "But the battle at Tipor Nor happened, and he's never been the same since."

"I have a hard time believing that," Groove chimed in. "Ultra Magnus, a calm and rational being? I don't think so. He and Optimus Prime are like night and day."

"Now, yes." Kup agreed. "But for a while, they were very much alike. Fate stepped in and on the soil of Tipor Nor, fate smacked Ultra Magnus across the face. Unlike Prime, a steady hand didn't hold justice for Magnus." Kup noticed how attentive Groove was, eager to hear more. Always one for an audience, the veteran was enjoying the moment. "Get comfortable," he said. "I'll tell you the story."

* * *

Ultra Magnus had spent the last several hours contemplating the right decision. The call to make a stand had to be announced. Not doing so would create the appearance of weakness in the Autobot camp, and fuel the propaganda circulated by Decepticon forces. But he also realized that it was clearly a suicide mission, with virtually zero chance of victory. Zero chance that a single being would emerge from the confrontation alive.

But as the final hour approached, the wise and powerful Planetary Commander was leaning toward giving in to his bravado. When it came down to it, Ultra Magnus was the ultimate soldier. A soldier built not only from action but from reason as well. And so he focused on the fact that a soldier's duty was to fight, no matter the risk. His role was not to question why, but only to act for the greater good. Still, his instinct to roar into battle was tempered by his reluctance to doom those that followed him to their deaths.

Four hours ago, a string of events totally changed to face of Tipor Nor. For the last several days, Ultra Magnus had overseen a small brigade of Tinorian soldiers as the upgraded their equipment and learned new fighting techniques. On Tipor Nor, a planet roughly twice the size of Earth's moon, several different factions claimed citizenship. Most were generally kind in nature, studying all forms of science and supporting the small-scale military protecting the planet. But there was one faction that did not care for science; they only hungered for power. Total control of Tipor Nor and nothing less would do, that was their mantra. Luckily, the band of trigger-happy rebels had never done anything more rebellious than desecrating a few monuments and government buildings. Also, the Brak-Andons, as they were called, numbered few in comparison to the vast majority of peaceful citizens. The predicament reminded Ultra Magnus of the early days on Cybertron, with the situations being almost inter-changeable. But four hours ago, the Brak-Andons were discovered to have swollen their ranks and had come into possession of greatly improved weaponry, weaponry that bore a striking resemblance to that of Decepticon make. And they were preparing a massive attack.

Heavily armed and without the slightest hint of civility, the Brak-Andons swarmed outside the capital city's wall. Animalistic grunts and ancient chants erupted from the gathering, drawing upon the dark gods for strength. An educated guess pegged the number to be around two thousand strong. Behind the protective wall, Ultra Magnus knew that his forces greatly outnumbered the aggressors. But he also accepted the fact that in his impromptu army, were farmers and teachers, scientists and architects. Only a few true soldiers waited with him inside the capital.

If the capital fell, so too would the rest of Tipor Nor. Word would quickly spread throughout the quadrant of an over-thrown government. The Decepticons would view the chaos and unrest as a perfect opportunity to strike down the seemingly primitive Brak-Andons and claim the planet for the Decepticon Empire. That would not be acceptable. But neither would willingly leading an army to an inescapable slaughter.

He stood, alone and silence, within his temporary personal quarters. Time was running out and a decision had to be made. Millions of years and countless wars later, the call to engage in battle remained a tough choice to make. As was the case in almost every prior instance, the odds were not in their favor. Being over-powered and out-gunned went hand in hand during times like these.

A move toward battle would result in massive casualties, there could be no denying that cold, hard fact. Yet inaction, a turning of the head or blinking of an eye would yield the same disastrous outcome. Soldiers were going to die regardless, and innocent bystanders would inevitably fall alongside them. Ultra Magnus exited his quarters and made his way toward the north side of the wall. From atop is hardened platform, his optics looked down upon the attackers and finally made a definite decision. He raised his left arm high, drawing the attention of those standing behind him and gave his order.

* * *

Kup's vocal relayer seemed to be experiencing some difficulties, as his words grew strained and soft. His optics dimmed, as though he was reliving the story he had been telling. An awkward silence filled the space between he and Groove.

"Kup," the enthralled Groove called out. "Kup!" he repeated, somewhat louder than the previous attempt at regaining the elder's attention. "What happened next?" he asked, watching Kup drift back to the present. "How'd it end?"

The old war-horse was hesitant in answering. He was one of the most traveled warriors in the Autobot ranks, and had seen countless tragedies unfold. It would not be wrong to claim he had forgotten more than a handful of others would ever know. This had seemingly been more than a story, and now appeared to be a painful memory. "20,000... dead."

Groove leaned back in his chair once again, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and marveled at the death toll. "So, he gave the order to attack?" It was a rhetorical question, as he continued, "I knew it."

Kup looked at Groove, who was comparably young and still unspoiled by the ravages of war. Not so for himself, nor for Ultra Magnus. _"No,"_ he whispered, _"He did not."_

Ultra Magnus sat inside his personal quarters, alone and in silence. His only companions were the self-inflicted darkness that engulfed him and the unrelenting memories that plagued his soul. In time, he would let go of the anger and carry on, until the next time his suggestion was questioned. Until the next time his request for a preemptive strike was ignored. But for the moment, he was very content in his solitude, and cursed his peers for not listening to his words; words born out of experience and regret.

**THE END.**

* * *

**A/N: Ultra Magnus has always been one of my favorite characters. I wanted to try and write something that would shed some light on his past, and decided to try and come up with a tragedy from his earlier days.**


	5. A Brilliant Seduction

**1,001 Cybertronian Nights**

**A Brilliant Seduction**

Looking back now, after the fact, he realized how he let his emotions get carried away. He was smitten and was unable to resist the woman's charm. She was beautiful and intelligent, a lot like his girlfriend Carly. Perhaps too much alike, maybe that was her plan all along. To remind him of his true love and use that to her advantage. No amount of second-guessing can undo the past; what is done is done. The Autobots have made it clear that they hold no ill will towards him for what happened. For that, he is grateful, but in all honesty, what almost happened to them was the last thing on his mind. It was his own actions, and how he conveniently forgot about Carly that truly bothered him.

It started out innocently enough. Carly had departed for her parent's home in Alaska and would be gone for five weeks. Spike soon grew bored with only work and Autobot interaction, so he decided to go out for a few drinks. Nothing too heavy, just a couple of beers or a whiskey sour and then call it a night. He was used to going out to clubs with Carly two to three nights a week, but it felt wrong to frequent those places without her. So instead, he talked his friend Chip Chase to meet him at The Happy Barn and kill a couple of hours once or twice a week. The Happy Barn was never busy, inexpensive, and conversations would be enjoyed without having to shout over 1980's rock songs blasting on the jukebox.

She showed up the second night they were there. Flowing black hair, forest green eyes, and an hourglass figure. Petite glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, and a sparkling ruby necklace dangled just low enough to send a man's eyes to a place they shouldn't be looking. Chip was in the midst of offering up his theory on size and mass changes that the Transformer's go through during conversion, the actual act of transforming, when she first caught his eye.

Spike couldn't tell you a single word Chip spoke for the rest of the evening, not even under being threatened at gunpoint. His full and undivided attention was on the sultry stranger who sat three booths down from him. Despite being only inches away, Chip could've been in Alaska with Carly for all Spike cared. It was unnatural, this effect the vixen was having on him. To his credit, Spike wasn't rude to his friend, and tried hard to act interested in whatever it was coming out of his mouth. For nearly an hour, Chip rambled on about anything and everything, while Spike kept catching glances whenever he could of the unknown woman. Once it was as though she was looking directly at him, and even smiled upon feeling their eyes meet. Finally Chip had grown tired and suggested leaving, which pleased Spike to no end. But upon looking at where the woman was seated, he was saddened to find her missing. Defeated, he agreed with Chip and together they left the bar.

Spike called Chip the next afternoon and canceled their plans to go back to The Happy Barn later that night. It wasn't like him do that to his friend, but he explained it away by figuring he was actually doing Chip a favor. Of everyone he knew Chip was the least interested in socializing, and would probably be relieved he'd have the night back to work on his computer. The fact that Chip couldn't bring up Carly's name if he wasn't around didn't hurt his decision to lie either. Alone and drenched in ten-dollar cologne, Spike made his way inside the bar and hoped to find the mysterious lady. He wanted to be sure not to embarrass himself if she did happen to make another appearance, so he stuck with long-neck bottles of cream soda... with a straw.

Two hours had passed and still no sign of the girl. Halfway through his third cream soda, Spike was about to call it a night and forget all about her. Easier said than done, he chuckled to himself. His conscience began to tap away at his ego, bringing feelings of guilt and shame. He wondered how he would've felt if he knew Carly was doing what he was doing. Waiting in a bar, alone, and wishing to see an attractive man walk in. The thought never went any further, as just then the woman of his desire walked inside The Happy Barn.

There was no hesitation, no chase, and no pursuit. She walked directly over to where Spike was sitting and sat across from him. "I was hoping I'd see you again," she smiled, the air between them sweet with the aroma of her perfume. "Where's your friend?" she asked, not really caring about Chip's whereabouts, but it made for easy small talk. He informed her that he had decided to stay at home. "I see," she said, smiling again. She reached out across the table and grabbed hold of Spike's left hand. "Maybe that's for the best," she teased, looking deep into Spikes eyes. "It'll give us a chance to... talk."

And talk they did. For the next three weeks, seemingly every night, they would meet and talk. Their meeting places expanded beyond The Happy Barn and included Lonnie's Family Diner, about twenty miles away and in a different town, and Chan's Chinese Buffet. Carly and all of her friends hated Chinese food, so they never ate their; which practically guaranteed they wouldn't run into any of Carly's contemporaries. The woman had revealed her name to be Jane, but she proved to be anything but plain. Or boring. The two of them shared a great many things in common. Both loved the outdoors, enjoyed sports, and lived to write. Spike had to constantly remind himself not to get carried away. He loved Carly, and no matter how infatuated he was with Jane, he couldn't risk hurting his relationship with the girl he knew was destined to be his wife.

Sharing a strong appreciation for writing, they started discussing future plans as it pertained to their skillful hands. Spike made it known that he had been working on a screenplay for the past three years, coincidentally titled "From the Stars Come the Warriors". Jane confessed that she was currently making a living as a freelance writer for several small newspapers, but hoped to one day become a well known novelist and anchorwoman. "Lofty goals," Spike said, impressed with her ambition. "An author and a television presence, the best of both worlds."

She seemed somewhat depressed and sighed, "Well, it'll be a long time before either one of those things happen, let alone both." Her fingers traced along the rim of her wineglass, a sadness coating her words. "To be successful, to get noticed, you need the big one." Her eyes again met Spikes, who sat attentively before the stunning beauty. "The 'it' story... the one that puts you on the map and sets you apart from everyone else."

They met again the following night, this time deciding to drive to nearby Patchburg and enjoy a moonlit stroll. They had been dangerously comfortable with each other, stopping just shy of showing overt affection. It was during their romantic and borderline innocent walk that the idea of 'the big one' came up once more. Spike had remarked that many journalists first become known for an exclusive interview. Whether they are world leaders, bizarre celebrities, or death-row murderers, being the first to land the coveted task is a sure-fire way to get noticed. "What if I could land you the 'big one'?"

Jane smiled and cast a suspicious eye towards her admirer. "Are you coming onto me?"

Spike's face grew bright red, revealing his severe embarrassment. He was speechless and in a mild state of shock for several seconds until Jane's playful laughter eased his nerves. She was trying to crack a joke and he was oddly disappointed and relieved simultaneously.

"I'm sorry," Jane apologized, secretly finding a perverse pleasure in watching Spike squirm. "Please, go ahead. You were saying?"

"What if I could arrange a face-to-face conversation with one of the most powerful and interesting beings in the world... you interested?"

Jane was intrigued by Spike's choice of words. He didn't say 'person'; instead he chose the all-inclusive 'being'. Maybe, she thought, he had opted to go the grandiose route. "Bill Gates?" she asked, at first not certain if her admirer was serious.

"More interesting," Spike smiled with all the fortitude of a Super Bowl MVP. "Much, much more interesting."

Jane cocked her head as she realized Spike was totally sincere in his offering. She then decided to aim higher. "The President?" she guessed, somewhat unsure of how this seemingly normal young man could possibly have the type of connections he was hinting at having.

"Good guess," Spike teased. "But I'm talking about someone even more powerful than the leader of the free world." He paused for dramatics and finally announced his selection. "What would you say if I told you I could arrange an interview with Optimus Prime, face-to-face?"

"Optimus Prime?" Jane asked dryly. "The leader of the Autobots?" Her tone was one of disbelief, annoyed at the thought of being strung along. She took what Spike had said and dwelled on it briefly, before casting a half-hearted smile and forcing a pity laugh. "You're funny," she stated. When there was no change in Spike's expression, a twinkle was found in her eye. "Are you serious?"

"Give me a couple of days to set it up, and it's done."

She lunged towards Spike and threw her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her. A scream of joy and a kiss on the cheek followed, all the while Spike's heart thumped heavily in his chest and shameful thoughts raced through his mind. "Where have you been all my life?" she cheerily asked. The answer, unbeknown to her, was with Carly.

For the next two days, Spike pleaded his case to the compassionate and strong-willed Optimus Prime. Of all the things needing to be done, talking with a female human stranger was nowhere on the list. Prime made no mention of Carly or how infatuated Spike seemed to be with this new woman. Spike assumed it was because he didn't fully grasp human behavior. In actuality, the Autobot commander had far too many tasks at hand to be concerned with human drama.

Spike gave as many details about Jane as possible. In spite of knowing her for less than a month, he felt as though he had known her for years. In another life, she'd be the woman by his side, of that he was certain. Prime consulted with his chief of security, Ironhide, and determined the meeting to be a minimal risk. Growing tired of Spike's constant begging Optimus relented and agreed to meet with Jane. He made it clear that the interview could be terminated at any point. He also stated no specific details about The Ark could be discussed, and a time limit of twenty minutes would be observed.

They say everything becomes clear in hindsight. Clues are easily detected after the crime has been solved. Strange coincidences and acts of chance are learned to be anything but. Had Spike known then what he would discover in the near future, he wouldn't have badgered Prime into agreeing to do the interview. He wouldn't have talked Chip into going to the Happy Barn weeks ago. And he definitely wouldn't have allowed himself to entertain the thoughts Jane brought into his mind. But he didn't have that option; he couldn't' go back in time and alter the chain of events he initiated. All he could do was swear to never allow anything like what was about to happen to ever be revisited.

Upon seeing the fragile woman, whatever remaining concerns pertaining to safety quickly fizzled away. Optimus was seated at one end of the room, his towering frame demanding respect and awe from all who looked upon him. Spike led Jane into the room, sat her several feet away from her subject, and smiled in amusement as he watched her strain her neck upward toward Prime's face. He peered down at his guest and greeted her warmly. Jane choked out a reply, completely overwhelmed by being in the presence of an icon. Spike started to take a seat next to Jane, but he stopped when Jane joked how she didn't want a 2-on-1 interview. Spike exited the room and entered a side entrance where he could watch alongside Ironhide and Red Alert. They were observing the proceedings from a hidden corridor for security reasons. The threat was almost non-existent, but rules were rules and the commander of the Autobots was not to be out of view during visitations, by humans or any other beings.

Optimus Prime and Jane engaged in a fairly polite interview. Jane slowly overcame her initial amazement at being in front of such a being, and Optimus found himself almost charmed by the woman's respectful requests and was enjoying their conversation. Various routine questions were asked, examples being 'How old is your race?' and 'What differentiates the Autobots from the Decepticons?' The meeting passed quickly and the twenty minutes that had been set grew to thirty before Prime somberly decided it was time to call the interview over. All had gone smoothly, Prime reasoned. No harm, no foul.

Then things took an unexpected turn.

Seeing that Prime was getting to his feet and rightfully assuming the interview was finished, Spike started to exit the side corridor. For some reason, however, the door refused to open. "Ironhide," Spike said, "You mind fixing the door so I can get out of here?" The burly veteran shot a concerned look over towards Red Alert, and began to run a systems diagnosis. What he found troubled him. Spike was informed that the wiring had been damaged from within. _Melted_ was a more accurate description.

The trapped trio looked upon the view-screen and watched as events unfolded. Their door was inoperable and the communications station was non-responsive. They soon found the cause of their predicament.

With Prime's back turned to her, as he started to walk away, Jane stood from her chair and changed before their very eyes. The flowing black hair was now short and blond. Upon closer inspection, Spike noticed her once forest green eyes were now ice blue. Her petite frame was replaced by a toned, muscular body, and her journalistic attire was eradicated by a form-fitting metallic outfit that bonded with her skin. "Circuit Breaker!" Spike exclaimed, somewhat in a state of shock.

She shot an electrical burst from her hands, directly impacting Prime in the center of his back. Stunned and weakened, he collapsed to one knee and twisted his torso to see his attacker. His first thoughts were to ensure Jane was unharmed. His optics locked onto his aggressor and immediately recognized her as the woman badly damaged during a Megatron-Shockwave battle shortly after reawakening on Earth. "Josie," Prime moaned, remembering her birth name.

Another blast of energy zeroed in on Optimus, connecting against his right shoulder. His arm dangled effortlessly as sparks lit up his chest. "That name means nothing to me," Circuit Breaker sternly stated. "Josie died the day you crippled her... now I shall have my revenge as Circuit Breaker!" Although Circuit Breaker did an admirable job of short-circuiting many of the Arks computers, some escaped her touch. It was through those still functioning systems that a silent alarm was triggered. A group of several Autobots, including warrior brothers Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, quickly arrived on the scene and subdued the crazed woman. The situation had been resolved, the crisis ended.

A few hours later, Optimus Prime wandered into the sickbay to check on Circuit Breaker's condition. In order to put a stop to her onslaught, an energy trans-reversal spread was used, essentially turning her powers against herself and rendering her unconscious as a result. "How is she doing, Ratchet?"

The chief medical officer shook his head in bewilderment. "She's going to be fine," he answered. "She tried to kill you and you're curious as to how she's doing." Ratchet checked her vital signs one more time and readied her for transport to a more traditional medical center. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Were you able to discover what led to her actions?" Prime asked. "She blamed me, personally, for crippling her when she knows it was Megatron and Shockwave's actions that caused her dilemma."

Ratchet nodded and handed a familiar looking, minute metallic object to his commanding officer. "This may have had something to do with it," he stated strongly. Optimus Prime identified the object immediately.

"A cerebro shell," he announced. A device capable of completely controlling its victim, through remote transmission that was nearly undetectable. "Was there any permanent damage done to her mind?"

"None I can detect," the doctor replied. "I believe now that the cerebro shell has been removed from her brain, her body will start the healing process and there should be no residual consequences from the implant. I'm making an educated assumption that aside from bodily control, Bombshell has upgraded his cerebro shell technology to now be able to insert false memories into his targets." Optimus nodded in agreement, finding that a likely explanation for Circuit Breaker's blaming him and not the rightful perpetrators for her previous accident. "Scary, isn't it?" Ratchet concluded. "Forcing someone to act against their will wasn't terrible enough, now they can make their victims think whatever thoughts they deem worthy to their cause."

Optimus thanked Ratchet for caring for Circuit Breaker, as he privately knew it wasn't something the trusted medic truly enjoyed doing. "One last question," the leader remarked. Two of Ratchet's medical assistants, namely the Protectobot First Aid and the diminutive Micromaster, Fixit, began to ready the still unconscious Circuit Breaker for departure. "How was she able to so completely alter her appearance?"

"With that," Ratchet answered, pointing to a sparkling ruby necklace that rested atop a stand with nothing else surrounding it. "It projected a holographic force field that distorted her true appearance with the aid of nano-technology." The medic scratched his chin with his left index finger. "Sadly, it was fried in her apprehension, rendering further details unattainable."

The Autobot commander excused himself and began to make his way to the command chamber. Shortly after leaving the medical bay, he came across an obviously disturbed Spike. His eyes were empty and betrayed his heavy heart and feelings of guilt for what had transpired. "She's going to be okay, Spike," Prime stated. "And so am I. Don't beat yourself up over it. We all get fooled every now and then."

Spike sighed and continued walking, with slow methodical steps taking him closer to the Arks exit. Prime again called out to him. "You didn't know, Spike, nobody blames you for what happened. I hope you believe that."

"I do," Spike answered meekly. His emotions were running wild and it was a difficult battle to keep from visibly breaking down. He had hurt a lot of his friends over the past few weeks and that hurt weighted heavily upon his soul. Friends both near... and far had been betrayed by his youthful lust, whether they knew it or not. "I'm heading out, Prime. I need to work on some things at home."

"Give my best to Carly when she gets home tomorrow," Prime finished. Spike offered a weak smile and resumed his journey out of the Ark.

The End.

* * *

**A/N: I was trying to come up with something different, where the Transformers themselves would be placed in the background. So, I came up with this little story that tests Spike's faithfulness to Carly; and I thought Circuit Breaker would be the perfect temptation.**


	6. The Conversation

**1,001 Cybertronian Nights**

**THE CONVERSATION**

The atmosphere inside Baron's Haven was rowdy, filled with the likes of thieves and murderers often reserved for tall tales. Within its walls, Baron's Haven housed mechanoids of all walks of life, especially those that did the majority of their walking in the depths of shadows. Those who had never tasted the sick sweetness of taking a life could be counted on one hand.

At a table near the back of Baron's Haven, sat two distinguished mechanoids. Two representatives from the Transformers race, one peace-loving Autobot and one power-hungry Decepticon. Their respective factions have been at war for millions of years, but current events called for a face-to-face encounter. Off the record, so to speak.

"You want me to help you? Your kind has never supported our philosophy when it comes to other life forms. And what's with asking me to meet you here, of all places? It gives me the creeps."  
**"Nobody would expect to see us here, it's beneath both of our factions. Answering your first question, you know what they say. 'Desperate times' and all that."**

"I haven't been here for a full minute, and every circuit in my body is telling me to leave. History clearly shows..."  
**"I didn't arrange this meeting to discuss history."**

"Then why did you arrange this meeting?"  
**"To discuss something that affects both you and I. The future."**

"I take it your commander doesn't know about this little get together?"  
**"What do you think? You know how deluded and self-serving he can be. He would never have approved of this."**

"You speak loudly, for one who has served so blindly."  
**"I speak the truth, nothing more and nothing less." **

The conversation became focused, as the two individuals exchanged their thoughts on the reason for the meeting. An unsettling event had caused both to reconsider their respective factions' stance on the planet known as Ronex II. Its citizens, once open to discussions with both Autobot and Decepticon representatives, recently broke off any and all communications with their race. The abrupt silence fell on the eve of a marvelous discovery among their natural resources; a concentrated, yet primitive supply of energon. To make matters even worse, Ronex II's government had opened up talks with the Quintessons two days earlier.

"I agree with you on that one. This doesn't have a pleasant feeling to it."  
**"The inhabitants of Ronex II don't have a clue as to what they're doing. In their possession is the largest supply of non-contaminated energon in the quadrant, and they're entertaining the Quints!"**

"While closing the door on us."  
**"Exactly. And you and I both know that's not a good thing."**

"So what is it you propose we do? Form a two-bot brigade and claim the energon for ourselves? An absurd thought."  
**"No, you idiot. Our commanders would hang us both out to dry if we did anything that defiant and grandiose."**

"Then what is it you're planning? I'm running out of time, for Primus sake! If it's learned I left my post to meet with the likes of you..."  
**"War. We start a war between the Quints and Ronex II."**

"Start a war?"  
**"Make them distrust each other... plant a seed and watch it grow. Then Autobots and Decepticons both can reap the rewards. A truly wonderful harvest, for both sides."**

A sudden drain in a nearby electrical tower cast Baron's Haven into complete darkness for what seemed an eternity. In actuality, the lights were only out for a few seconds, but in a place as dangerous as the one they were in, that's all the time needed for a quick hit or a savage beating. Both soldiers braced themselves for some form of sneak-attack, but oddly weren't concerned that the attack could come from the other side of the table. In a place such as Baron's Haven, the only two beings they silently could trust, were each other. The lights flickered on and off several times before finally returning to normal.

"I _really _don't like this place."  
**"Our long-range sensors have detected a Quintesson ship, presumably carrying their ambassador with the purpose of holding another round of discussions."**

"What size is the ship?"  
**"What does it matter? A ship is a ship! Now, I'm going to make sure none of our recon vessels are in the area when the ship reaches the planet. By doing so, that will enable you to pilot a craft of your own, and open fire on Ronex II's moonbase... doing so from an angle that will make it appear that the Quints are the ones doing the shooting. You will, of course, be cloaked at the time."**

"We don't have cloaking capabilities."  
**"Spare me your disinformation! The good beings of Ronex II will have their guard down as their new friends make their approach. Upon being attacked, and from their point of view-betrayed, the laws of retaliation clearly dictate they would have no other alternative than to return fire."**

"And the Quints will become enraged at such an attack, returning the gesture in kind."  
**"Correct. Instant war. Within a few days, they'll be up to their necks in combat, allowing our two sides to step in and play peacemaker... or conqueror. Whichever way the wind blows. Regardless, it will be the Autobots or the Decepticons that claim the energon supply-and not the Quints. And really, that's all that truly matters."**

"All right. What you propose makes sense, and it's a sound plan. But how do I know you're being straight with me? This could be some type of trap. How do I know I can trust you??

**"Of course you can trust me. I'm an **_**Autobot**_**, remember?"**

_A conversation between two Transformers. One peace-loving Autobot... one power-hungry Decepticon. Gathered in the midst of former heroes, current thieves, and forgotten watchers. Seated at a table for two in a dark and shadowed place. Onlookers steal quick glances and exhale whispered thoughts. Out of character? Or out of necessity? Perhaps a little of both._

**THE END.**

* * *

**A/N: This was my attempt at a "Twilight Zone" type story written around the time of my son's birth. For a look at how to really do one of these, check out Alaskan Olive's "The New Exhibit".**


	7. The Bearded One

**1,001 Cybertronian Nights**

**THE BEARDED-ONE**

The Bearded-One is going to walk through that door any moment. I don't know how I know, but I know. I can't help but feel I've been here before, hiding in the shadows and waiting. Waiting for the same thing I'm waiting for now. But I can't remember what happens.

I'm afraid, to say the least. My body is scarred and I'm in great pain, but I don't remember how I got this way. I'm pretty sure the Bearded-One is the cause for my appearance, although I'm not certain. I can't remember what he looks like, but I know I've seen him before. Bits and pieces flash before my optics, but the whole picture is fuzzy and hard to make out details. But I remember a beard and cold, steel claws.

He's getting closer. It won't be much longer now. I'd run if I could, but somehow I know there's no escape. I've looked around this room a hundred times in the last minute, and it's nothing but solid walls. I wish I could remember why I chose to hide in here. This is all so very strange.

I see him now. He's a few feet away from me. I know I've seen him before, but at the same time... I don't know. I can't seem to find my weapon. I've got no communication device, and even if I did with my luck it wouldn't be able to send any messges. These walls look pretty thick.

Here he comes. He's found me.

"Come now," the Bearded-One calls to me. "Stand and take it like a warrior." I refuse and the Bearded-One reaches down and grabs me by my throat. He lifts me high into the air and then violently tosses me across the room. My head hits one of the steel walls hard, dimming my optics. "I said stand!" he repeated.

I struggle to my feet and lunge after my tormentor in a futile attempt at fighting back. "It didn't work the last thousand times you tried it," he said. "What makes you think this time will be any different?" He sidestepped my clumsy approach and whacked me across my back. "Eternity is a long time to be stupid."

What was he talking about? I felt as though I may have come across this being once before, but I would remember seeing him a thousand times. Wouldn't I? Am I suffering from some undetected virus that is affecting my memory? Have I been reprogrammed? "What do you mean?" I asked, unsure if he'd give me an answer.

"Again," he sighed, removing a long sword from his side. "Just like each time before, you ask me 'What do you mean?'. And each time I explain it to you, only to then be asked yet again. I grow tired of the cycle."

"What cycle?" I demanded, although I cast no intimidation in his direction. I was a beaten and battered warrior, and he knew that all too well. "Explain it to me again!"

The Bearded-One paused and cast an annoyed look at my being. "Very well," he said. "I've killed you a thousand times already. And I'll go on killing you until the end of time." _What was he talking about?_ "Sometimes it's in this room, other times its out in a wooded area. Once, although I don't know how you pulled it off, it was at the bottom of an ocean."

"You're mad!" I shouted. "Totally mad!"

"If I may continue," he sternly stated, earning my quick silence. "I am a Death-Sweeps, and I am here to ensure you are punished accordingly. You are in a Death-Loop, you will continue to die and be brought back, only to die again. You don't exist in real-time anymore."

"Real-time?" I asked. "Then where am I?"

"Nowhere. A place with no name. A darkness with no light." The Bearded-One tightened his grip on the sword and began making his way towards me. I ran from wall to wall, hoping to find a secret exit or some hidden weapon, but I found no such device.

"Wait, wait!" I shouted, raising both of my arms up in the air. I couldn't tell if the smirk that fell across his face was because I had caught him off guard, or if he knew I was going to do that. "You say you've killed me a thousand times. You say I've tried to fight back each time and you know the questions I'm going to ask before I ask them?"

"That is correct."

Could this be possible? Is what the Bearded-One says true? Or is this some sort of Decepticon trick, or perhaps some other twisted form of alien life's way of getting a sick thrill? "Then, tell me. What happens now?"

The smirk morphed into a sneer. I could swear there was joy in his optics. "You die."

_***** *** *****_

_The Bearded-One is going to walk through that door any moment._

_I don't know how I know, but I know._

THE END.

* * *

**A/N: This little story took care of a few things I had been wanting to try out. One, I had never really written a "dark" TF story, so this was my first. I also wanted to use a Sweeps as the main character, not Scourge but rather, one of his kind. And I wanted to explore what the "after-life" was like for the Transformers. So, this is what came about.**


	8. The Catastrophic Reduction

**1,001 Cybertronian Nights**

**The Catastrophic Reduction**

"Nobody knows exactly how it happened, and nobody could do anything about it." That was how the lesson started, instantly earning the complete and total attention of the class. Most lectures were long and somewhat boring, as many students loudly proclaimed. History, despite harboring true emotional and life-altering ramifications, was perceived by the majority of the newest generation to be a waste of time. But sometimes the reality of what was being taught and the student's perception of what was "cool" overlapped. "There are few circumstances in our history that showed no prejudice between the Autobot and Decepticon factions. The emergence of Unicron is perhaps the most infamous example. Another is the topic of today's lesson." The professor paused and took a long, methodical gaze out towards his class. "The Catastrophic Reduction."

"By a show of hands, how many of you have heard about the Hate Plague?" A modest section of the students raised their arms. "I see," he said, somewhat unimpressed. "And how many of you know something pertaining to Cosmic Rust?" Roughly the same amount of arms went up. "Well, the Catastrophic Reduction is believed to be the result of these two elements and a misguided scientist hoping for change."

The teacher fielded a couple of questions relating to the scientist, namely who was it and why did he choose to research such dangerous topics. "His name is sealed, in accordance with Cybertronian Law," he answered. "But his reasoning was sound and noble." Half of the class was busy taking notes, the other half staring directly at the professor. All of them were eagerly awaiting more information. "A curious illness began to overtake all participants in the Headmaster, Powermaster, and Targetmaster programs. At first, it was thought to be a problem directly related to the Nebulans rejecting the technology, which to a point was correct."

A second-year student politely interrupted with a question of his own. "The Nebulans... the race of beings from the planet Nebulos that bonded with Autobots under the leadership of Fortress Magnamess. Who served as the Decepticon equivalent?"

The professor couldn't help but smile as he corrected his attentive listener. "Actually, it was Fortress _Maximus_ , and his counterpart was Scorponok." The student redirected his attention to his notes and began writing what had been stated. "Now, it isn't known for certain, but we are under the assumption that every thing that happened in the Autobot camp also happened in the Decepticon camp. Nebulans were on both sides and the end result was the same. For the sake of time, we'll focus primarily on the Autobot accounts and assume the same was true for the Decepticons."

"They began falling ill, with a fever and severe skin irritation. Due to it being a period of war, those Transformers who had the various partners, went without. The Powermasters returned to their previous levels of operations. Targetmasters rearmed themselves with their original weapons. And, although the process was somewhat intense, the Headmasters were reformatted to their initial structure."

Another question from the class. "You mentioned it was a time of war. But the Great War had ended and the Golden Age of Cybertron had returned... hadn't it?"

"The Golden Age of Cybertron," the professor reflected. "The Rebirth," he described it. "It didn't last very long, despite what some institutions like to teach."

"One by one, the Nebulans began to die." A visual change in the audience could be detected. "The scientist, eager to save those that still clung to life, began searching for a cure. He conducted controversial research, ignoring proper procedures and established protocols." Turning his back to the gathering, he inserted a disk into a wall-mounted panel. Flipping a switch, two images found their way onto the viewscreen. One was of an innocent looking chunk of space-rock, while the other was a picture of legendary soldier Ultra Magnus... completely red in color.

"Since this is History class and not Science class, I'm not going to get into the fine details and long-worded explanations. The short version is that the scientist wanted to bring order from chaos. He was able to locate and isolate certain cells from the cosmic-rust infested rock and combine them with a reduced strain of the Hate Plague."

"His intention, or so we've been led to believe, was to somehow create an anti-virus that would purge the illness from the Nebulans. What happened, sadly, was the opposite. In fact, it accelerated the crisis. Instead of taking days to die, it now took only minutes. It was hoped by well-informed scientists, that only those who received the anti-virus treatment would die. But somehow... and this is what is meant by proclaiming nobody knows exactly how it happened... the others began to die just as quickly."

He took a moment to allow the students time to catch up on their note taking. "We are aware that a similar happening was taking place in the Decepticon camp, due to intelligence reports from that time. In fact, they suspected it was the result of some new Autobot weapon."

The professor clasped his hands together and raised them to his face. It was a habit he displayed whenever the subject matter struck a personal nerve. It looked as though he was offering up a quick prayer. Despite several attempts at breaking himself from the quirky motion, it remained a part of his demeanor. "Two dominant theories, and I stress that they are ONLY theories, exist among the philosophers and elders. One- Primus was doing away with what he perceived as abominations." He lowered his hands and tucked them behind his back in an effort not to repeat the gesture. "Two, which is more widely accepted... somehow the anti-virus mutated almost immediately and became an air-born virus, carried on the universal radio waves from which there is no escape from."

"The nightmare wasn't over," the professor stated, seemingly finding it difficult to remain non-emotional. "Non-Nebulans were also soon affected, and panic shot through the entire Transformer race."

Something sounded familiar... a forgotten tale told long ago. A whispered story handed down through society. Suddenly, the outcast rambler and the forsaken 'empty' that often preached nonsense had actually offered some truth to onlookers. A hushed exchange of words between select students was channeled into one voice. "The Micromasters."

"You are correct," the professor said. "Science could half-way explain what happened to the Nebulans... initially, anyway. But when the Micromasters began to suffer the same fate, science was helpless in its search for a reason. Whatever had happened to the Nebulans was now spreading, and since it was carried via radio waves, there was no secure defense." Growing tired of pacing as he spoke, he positioned himself at the left corner of his desk, planting his feet firmly in place for the next few minutes. "After a couple of very stressful days, it was discovered that for some unknown reason, no other Transformers were affected. Only the Micromasters... perhaps it was their small stature, or perhaps their unique internal circuitry. Whatever the reason, all Micromasters were off-line in less than 24 hours."

The students sat in silence, allowing the tragedy to fully register with them. Such an event had never been experienced since, and most found it difficult to comprehend such a happening. "What happened to the scientist responsible?"

"He grew insane, blaming himself for the tremendous loss of lives. Unable to forgive himself for unleashing the anti-virus, he committed self-destruction." There was genuine emotion evident in the professor's voice. This remained a sad period in history, one that despite happening long ago still carried with it a deep and dark shame. "The Catastrophic Reduction remains the largest loss of lives in the shortest amount of time, and- Primus willing- nothing will ever challenge it for that distinction. It was a very dark, and to some, a very shameful period that wasn't spoken of for many, many years. This is why no mention of the incident was found in any data or records from the Beast Wars Era."

Having been a professor as long as he had been one, he knew without looking at a clock that class was just about finished. "We're about out of time, so that'll do it for today. Remember that tomorrow we'll be discussing the human referred to as 'The Mechanic', and we'll be taking a look back at Dinobot Grimlock's brief stint as Autobot Commander."

He switched the projector off, eliminating the pictures of a Hate Plague-infected Ultra Magnus and the piece of space-rock. The professor dismissed the class and returned to his desk. Listening to the sound of hurried footsteps, he prepared for the next batch of students. He suddenly felt an awkward sensation, prompting him to look up from his paperwork. Standing before him was one of his favorite students, one that was both curious and respectful. "Such a sad incident. Did you know any of them?"

"A few," the professor answered. "I knew a few."

"It must be hard," the student added. "Having to teach something like that, reliving it periodically. I couldn't stand it."

The professor leaned in tight to his desk, inviting the student to bend and hover at a closer distance. "I like to think that they didn't die. I like to believe, instead, that Primus simply took them out of this universe and put them into another... where they were needed more." He was almost whispering; despite many elders talking openly about their Creator, most scientists actually doubted the mainstream belief of Primus, and he didn't want to invite unwanted ridicule.

"Do you believe that?" The student asked, curious to hear the answer. "Truly? Do you truly believe that?"

The professor chose only to smile at the student, which led to the student smiling back at him. Grabbing his notes and books off the professor's desk, the student chuckled softly to himself and made his way out of the room. Now alone, save for his own thoughts and memories, he replied to the student's final question. "Of course I believe." It wasn't so much an answer, actually, but rather a painful statement. "I was there."

the end.

* * *

**A/N: I never really cared for the Head/Power/Target- masters that popped up towards the end of G1's original run. Same goes for the Micro-Masters. They just never really connected with me; yet I had no problem what-so-ever with the Action-Masters. So, this was my way of explaining them out of continuity. I guess another title I could've used for this would have been "All The Small Things".**


	9. Pandora's Box

**1,001 Cybertronian Nights**

**Pandora's Box**

The amount of damage Skids had taken was unbelievable. On a routine scouting mission, the Autobot Theoretician stumbled upon a fierce Decepticon patrol. Unable to escape detection, the poorly armed intellectual was overpowered by the devious dark warriors and left for dead. His deserted body lay motionless for several hours, before finally being spotted by an Aerialbot search party.

The Autobots chief medical officer, the always diligent and often overworked Ratchet, did everything in his power to repair their fallen ally. After a lengthy and intense realignment, hardly a scratch could be found on Skids' body. But that was the easy part of any operation, and Ratchet himself would be the first to admit as much. Once you got beyond the outer appearance, the real challenges were the inner-workings. Joints... energy lines... and the logic center. The most demanding aspect of Skids' condition involved his logic center and all the components that comprised it. It was also the recipient of the most damage. Had Skids been human, the common term used to describe what had happened would be that he suffered severe brain damage.

"The good news," Ratchet stated, addressing Autobot Commander Optimus Prime, "is that he'll be able to physically function in the same manner as before the attack." The doctor placed his metal data scanner on the stand in front of him. He walked softly towards Skids' head and placed his right hand on the recovering Autobot's temple. "Bad news is," Ratchet continued, "I was unable to correct all the damage up here," he finished, tapping his pointer finger atop Skids' brow.

"How severe is the damage?" Optimus asked, his tone rich with concern.

"Don't know," Ratchet answered. "The full scope of the damage won't be realized until he comes to. One thing is known, though." The medic made one final systems check before exiting the room. "His battlefield days are over."

* * *

With medical equipment in hand, Ratchet entered Skids' quarters and found him staring at the walls. Although he couldn't make out exact words, the doctor discovered the suffering Autobot was in fact talking to himself. "Well, it's been three days since you rejoined the living. How are you feeling?" Skids immediately ended his hushed rambling and addressed his visitor.

"Do you know?"

Ratchet set his equipment down on an extended metal slab, and removed a diagnostics re-layer. "Do I know _what_, Skids?"

"No, of course not," Skids answered himself. "How could you know... would you even accept it if you did?"

Ratchet connected the device to his patients torso, and started to collect the data needed to assess his present condition. "Feeling any discomfort when you move? When was the last time you transformed?" He opted to ignore the strange demeanor being displayed.

Skids ignored the doctor's questions in rebuttal, and added to the awkward encounter. "It could prove to be too much... such an awakening... such an awesome revelation." He flinched slightly as Ratchet disconnected his device. As the medical officer grabbed yet another instrument, Skids again filled the air with his words. "Has it always been this way? Has the truth we've known always been the lie I now know it to be?" He argued with himself angrily, drawing strong concern from the observing doctor. "Perhaps," he suggested in response to his own question. "But then the lie wouldn't have been discovered... there must be a shadow to give hints of the light. Yes... yes, but it no longer matters now. _**Now**_ is irrelevant, isn't it?"

Ratchet was puzzled by Skids' behavior, and hurriedly began his final examination. The sooner he was finished, the sooner he could study his findings and hopefully find an answer for Skids' actions. "You're a pawn, a plaything." Skids titled his head and surveyed left to right. "We all are." He jerked his hand suddenly, as though it had been lit on fire. A quick smile found its way on to his face, only to suddenly be replaced by what could best be described as a sneer. "It's a game," he proclaimed. "One that we don't control, but instead we are controlled by it!"

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Ratchet said, counting down the seconds until the cerebral-scan was completed.

"You **can't** understand," Skids coldly muttered. "You don't **want** to understand. You're part of the lie... you believe the lie!"

Ratchet gathered up his tools and offered Skids some parting instructions. "I'm suggesting you remain in your quarters until I say otherwise." He looked at Skids, again staring at the walls, quietly restarting his earlier self-conversation. "Your body is holding up fine," he stated. "It's your head I'm worried about."

* * *

"What's the update?" Optimus asked, watching as Ratchet took a seat on the other side of the commander's desk. "Any signs of improvement?"

Ratchet sighed heavily before answering. "Just the opposite," he announced. "The tests reveal a steady decline in his cerebral activity. His logic center is rejecting the treatment I gave him, and he's experiencing severe mental strokes as a result. He's getting worse with every passing day."

Optimus was somewhat surprised at what Ratchet had said, and his tone reflected his feelings. "Worse?" he asked. "I thought he had stabilized," he added. "I've heard of cases where the patient maintains, a select few even show signs of increased recovery." Optimus looked warily at his old friend. "But I've never heard of patients suffering from logic-center damage getting... worse."

"It's rare," Ratchet explained, "but it happens. He's extremely confused and I fear he may become a danger to himself." Ratchet understood what was happening, and it bothered him greatly knowing there was nothing he could do about it. "He'll get a little worse each day until finally he simply shuts down. Off-line."

Prime shifted in his seat, a feeling of helplessness surging through his body. "How-"

"Two days," Ratchet interrupted. "I estimate he has roughly 48 hours."

* * *

Against his doctor's orders, Skids decided to leave the sanctuary of his personal quarters and roam the halls within the Ark. Picking a destination at random, he barged inside and began to voice his newly found convictions. It just so happened that the room he entered included commander Optimus Prime and a few select others; it was a scheduled meeting having to do with secondary defense procedures.

"Lies!" Every head in the room turned in the direction of the disturbance. "All of it- lies!" Skids raised his right arm and pointed directly at Optimus. "And you know it, don't you?" While those seated remained still as to not heighten the situation, Prime slowly stepped out from behind the podium and cautiously made his way towards the troubled Autobot.

"Easy, friend," Optimus soothingly called. "Everything is all right. Just calm down."

Skids continued on as if he hadn't heard his leader's words. "You **have**to know! You're Optimus Prime, the wisest of all Autobots." His optics dimmed for a second, as he carried on a self-conversation out loud. "Unless," he paused, "you aren't Optimus Prime!" Skids suddenly realized Prime was making his way towards him, and started back-stepping. "No, no, no... it doesn't matter. It's all a lie, so none of this matters, do you hear me?" He scanned his reluctant audience and pleaded with them to listen. "**Everything**is a lie, don't you realize it... Optimus knows... and if he doesn't, then he's not the great Autobot leader we thought he was!" Skids seemed to be on the verge of collapsing, and cast an awkward glance at the floor below him. "But if it's all a lie, it doesn't matter, does it?"

Optimus finally stood face to face with Skids, whose back-stepping had placed him firmly against a chamber wall. Someone in the room had quietly called for security, evidenced by the arrival of both Ironhide and Red Alert. "Take him back to his quarters," Prime ordered. A silent nod to Ironhide also instructed him to place two guards outside his quarters, so there wouldn't be a repeat of what had just happened. "You need rest, my friend," Prime told Skids. "You're not well." As the two security officers escorted Skids out of the room and down the corridor, his words continued to launch an echo of concern.

_**"It's a lie... nothing matters... it's all a lie!"**_

* * *

Inside Ratchet's personal quarters were countless awards and certificates. Each one proudly congratulating his many talents and achievements. Guests often found themselves lost in the sea of accolades. But Ratchet considered them nothing more than mere decoration. What mattered most to him was what he had done to receive the awards. The act more important than the prize. The victory more desired than the spotlight. He didn't like to lose. Failure was almost foreign to him.

It disturbed him to no end that there was nothing he could do to remedy Skids' demise. Being surrounded by all those awards and certificates only brought shame to his being. They taunted and screamed at him, _"You're good, but not good enough!"_ A heartless and endless barrage of regret ate away at his soul. In solitude, he rested his head in his palms and struggled in vain to silence his demons.

* * *

Skids frantically paced back and forth inside his quarters, under the guarded watch of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The yellow and red toned brothers found it hard not to discuss what had become of their fellow Autobot. "Poor sap," Sunstreaker blurted, "he's gone where no 'bot has gone before."

Sideswipe nodded slightly, trying to remain still so if Skids happened to glance in their direction, he wouldn't suspect they were talking about him. "I hope I never get like that," he sighed. "Paranoid... panicky... he's lost all sense of reality."

"Cold as this might sound," Sunstreaker started, "Maybe ol' Ratchet should've let him die." The remark drew a stern and sudden look from Sideswipe, but in seconds it was replaced by an expression of reluctant agreement. "Cold as it might sound," Sunstreaker finished.

* * *

"They won't listen to me," Skids spoke out loud. "They can't hear me because they want to believe the lie. They don't want the truth, instead they embrace the falsehood." His hands ran across the keyboard in front of him, typing in a message to be discovered shortly after his approaching doom. "I won't let them continue to manipulate me," he barked, his words beginning to run together. "Because I know the **truth** now... **I discovered the lie.**"

With the message finished, he walked over to his recreational chair and fell into it. "So long to finally understand. An eternity to pull back the veil of darkness and stare into the cold, hard face of enlightenment. I know what we truly are." His optics faded to black, as he silently initiated the self-destruct sequence. "If my fellow Autobots are too foolish to see beyond the mirage, then they deserve to stay within the lie. The truth has set me free... playtime is over." A violent explosion blew his body into a thousand pieces, and set off a blistering alarm.

Ratchet noticed the viewscreen in the corner, and read what was written. The message was rather short, but managed to shed some light on Skids' mental state. "He truly had gone mad," he muttered. Ratchet looked over at Prime and shook his head in disbelief. With nothing left to be done, the medic exited the room.

Left alone in the destroyed surroundings, the Autobot leader made his way to the view-screen, eager to read the message for himself. As his optics finished scanning the text, a sincere feeling of sadness overcame him. "By Primus," he whispered, trying to imagine the insanity Skids had been dealing with. "_**Toys**,_" Optimus continued. "He thought we were all... _**toys**_."

**THE END.**

* * *

**A/N: This is another short story I had posted some time ago. I feel it's a good fit for this sort of anthology.**


	10. Thunder in the Valley

**Thunder in the Valley**

He was an outsider.

I was born in this village, nestled within the majesty of the Peruvian Andes Mountains. Ancient Inca Temples decorate our land, a reminder of a time long since lost. Mine was a quiet life, full of hard work and simple pleasures.

When the metal gods came to our village and tried to rape our land of its power, all we had grown accustomed to changed. Destruction followed these cosmic giants wherever they went, and the trend continued when they descended on my homeland. The scars they carved into our land in a matter of hours will take many, many years to heal.

But not all of the newcomers were strange beings. One was a young man with a gentle heart and fiery determination. He stood beside the peaceful giants as an equal, if not in size, than in stature.

I am forbidden from getting involved with any who come from outside our community. But I could not betray my emotions where this particular man was concerned. We were both young, that's true, but our spirits contained a wise soul unusual for people our age.

It was this mutual maturity that drew me to him. There was something in his eyes, something in the way he spoke that ignited a fire inside of me that could not be extinguished. Beneath a sky ablaze with stars and a wicked evening breeze, we embraced and shared our warmth. Two became one.

The peaceful giants soon thwarted the devious demons they were at war with and left my land. He was leaving too, and with a heavy heart and teary eyes, I bid him farewell.

He was an outsider… but now he's so much more.

* * *

**A/N: Remember the G1 episode, "Fire on the Mountain"? This takes a look at the girl Spike left behind. She didn't have a name in the episode, so she remains nameless here too.**


End file.
